


Day Two: Morning Glory

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Peggysous Week 2020 [2]
Category: Agent Carter (Marvel Short Film), Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, daniel my good dude it's okay, it's all consistent with hanahaki aus so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Morning Glory: Unrequited Love, mortality of life, restricted love, love that is in vain.***Daniel’s life has always been a simple picture in his head. His wants are small, personal. His. He dreams of a world with the little things in life that can be his, always wanting to be practical, to be warm. He can have his dream and help others to have theirs, never once letting his own wants come before theirs.Then he starts coughing up flowers.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Daniel Sousa, Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa
Series: Peggysous Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857973
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30
Collections: Peggysous Week 2020





	Day Two: Morning Glory

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry

Daniel never put his faith in fairy tales. 

His mother often scolded him when he was little, saying it was okay to let himself indulge in fantasy just for little bit, it wasn’t hurting anyone. He remembers looking up at her, confused, saying there was nothing wrong with the stories, they just weren’t going to happen. His mother had shaken her head, saying that he wasn’t going to be very happy if all he cared about were practical things. 

Daniel never really understood the shame of being practical. Sure, it was fun to indulge in stories now and then, but it was so much more rewarding when the story could be _real_. He could work, do his job well, then come home and read. Or listen to a radio show, if that’s what he wanted that night. It was very easy, very orderly, very practical. 

When he was around twelve, he discovered that the other kids didn’t like it when he didn’t want to join in on their fantasy games, never able to understand why it wasn’t more fun if he wanted to fight a bad guy instead of a dragon. (Personally, he’d never really understood why dragons got such a bad rap, but that’s beside the point.) He asked his mom about it, leading to the first of the many conversations about why fantasy was alright, _good_ even, for a child’s imagination. 

But Daniel had seen what his sisters had gone through, growing up with their dreams encouraged only to have them stopped in their tracks, told to focus on _real_ things, leaving them upset, a little gray around the edges, snatching their hands away guiltily when they lingered on the spines of their much loved books. He loved his sisters, loved them fiercely, and so found new books, puzzles, mysteries, anything that could bring those smiles back to their faces. 

He found that focusing on a puzzle made it difficult to be sad about days and dragons gone by. 

Often he overheard his mother and father whispering about how he didn’t seem to want to dream. His father said something about Daniel being a smart boy, recognizing what he needed to do to make it in the world, a strong young man. His mother argued that he didn’t need to be strong, he was a _child_ , that wasn’t what it was for. 

Daniel dreamed. He dreamed of small things. And that was alright, because they were _his_ dreams. They weren’t dreams of a cozy house and a wife and as many beautiful children as he wanted. That was his mother’s dream. They weren’t dreams of a successful job where he was the boss, in charge of plenty of other people. That was his father’s dream. 

His dreams were simple. His dreams were the feeling he gets when it’s raining gently outside and he can curl up in the chair by the window, watching two drops of water race down the glass. His dreams were the feeling you get when you cup your hands around a warm cup of something delicious while your family laughs together. His dreams were safety, security, warmth. His dreams were _feelings_ , not things. Things couldn’t be carried around everywhere with you, feelings could. 

If that made him ‘practical,’ then yeah, he was practical. 

He kept his dreams simple because then he could get them. And that was alright. That was what he wanted. He wanted warmth, he wanted his books, he wanted his life. 

That was enough. 

Reaching for practicality became a necessity after Bastogne, while he was trying frantically to figure out what he was going to do, how to adjust to life with his injury. 

He’d say it was disarming but…wrong limb. 

This time, no one seemed to worry when he dove headfirst into making sure everything was a simple as it could be while still being comfortable. In fact they praised him for it, for being so good at adjusting. He didn’t bother to correct them, not that he knew how. He did see his sisters when he first got home, wrapping them both in tight _warm_ hugs. 

“Guess that’s one good thing about your dreams, Danny,” Susie said, ruffling his hair like they were still kids, “you never needed both of your legs to get ‘em.”

“Susie!” Hannah pulled Daniel into a protective hug and swung her purse at Susie’s arm. “Don’t be rude!”

“What? I’m right?”

“Guys,” Daniel murmured, smiling at the relief of having his sisters back, “stop it. Don’t fight.”

Hannah huffs, linking her arm through Daniel’s. “Come on. Mother’s making your favorite.”

His sisters continued to bicker on the way back, and Daniel sought the comfort of the feelings that he was home, he was safe. The feelings stayed tucked right up next to his chest and it was perfect. 

His mother put on a brave face and his father clapped his shoulder heartily. Both of their dreams had been shattered, hadn’t they? 

Daniel weathered the polite smiles and the pitying looks he saw out of the corner of his eyes because he wasn’t all that upset about it. Sure, losing part of his leg wasn’t _ideal_ , but it wasn’t the worst thing. He could’ve lost his _life_ , after all. 

When Susie and Hannah dragged him upstairs for a puzzle, he dragged it out as long as he could until they both scolded him for playing dumb. Then he beat both of them at the next one. 

Joining the SSR was also practical. He had military experience, he worked investigation when necessary overseas as a reconnaissance scout, and he was used to this type of command structure. Of course, the fact that he was handicapped raised a few eyebrows, but he was determined to prove his worth. After all, it wasn’t like he had much _else_ to occupy his time with. 

He didn’t care too much about the snide remarks from the other agents. He only cared that there was work to do. There were _puzzles_ to solve. And bad guys to catch. 

He learned quickly how to toss the jabs right back at those that had thrown them, using his quick-thinking to diffuse any tensions that couldn’t be placated and out maneuver those that weren’t too keen on being placated. He wasn’t the lowest on the pecking order, and that was enough. 

The Chief approved of his work. Called him efficient, trusted his gut. Daniel took the warmth the praise gave him and tucked it next to his heart, where he could carry it easily. It gave him a shield to hold up against those that would try and crush him. 

He got asked a few times what he wanted out of all of this. Normally it was a jibe, meant to throw him off his rhythm. Thompson or Krzeminski would holler across the office, ask him what he thought he was doing here, big dreams of getting promoted, perhaps? He’d toss his own back, something about how he was currently the only one _working_ , so…

Sometimes, during the night shift—

“You know, Agent Sousa, you don’t _always_ have to be here, Don’t you have a life to go home to?”

“I’m an agent, sir. My job is my life.”

—one of the other agents would ask him. He learned how to look for that droop in their shoulders, the downturn of their mouth. When they were so tired they couldn’t help but wonder what it was all _for_. 

Here, his dedication to practicality flourished. He would remind them that they were doing this for the good of the world, that it needed gentle nudges now and then to stay on track. That they needed to work to make sure the world they kept saving was the one they wanted to live in. That they could achieve their dreams if they kept the world spinning. He would say it calmly, matter-of-fact, with a warm smile and the soft offer of a refill. The smiles and renewed vigor he got in return were enough to keep his own warmth burning. 

Normally, by the time he got to that part, they would forget they asked _him_ about his dreams. But that was alright. He was helping others achieve their dreams while getting his own. It was perfect. Practical. 

And it started to show; the office slowly grew warmer. Now he was included in the general chatter that buzzed around the desks. He was invited out to have a drink when Fridays rolled around. He had people offering to help _him_ with his filing and everything else. The office went from just an office to somewhere safe. And Daniel was happy. 

No good deed goes unpunished. 

The day Agent Carter walked into the SSR and was given the desk behind Daniel’s, he heard the snickers about putting the woman by the cripple. Something about keeping the centers of ‘low productivity’ together, something about putting her there so she won’t get distracted by the ‘real men.’ Daniel brushed it off, introducing himself as soon as she was left by the desk, telling her if she needed anything or had any questions, to just ask. 

He figured out quickly that this was the same Agent Carter who fought alongside Captain America. He would be lying if he said he didn’t have a _little_ freak-out at having her desk right next to his when he realized. He also figured out that she was no pity hire—not that he ever really thought she was—she was sharp as a tack and took no crap from any one in the office. And he started getting fed up when Thompson, Krzeminski, and the others started turning their ire onto her. 

Growing up with two sisters taught Daniel a lot about what not to do, especially where a woman was concerned. So when he tried to stick up for her and she politely asked him not to, he acquiesced immediately, watching as she cut Thompson down to size with a few words. He watched as she walked through the sea of disbelief and scorn, the waves parting before her. He watched as even the Chief started to sit up and take notice of her. 

He stayed where he’d always been, at the elbow of whomever needed his support most. 

The first time they’re on night-shift together is the first time it happened. 

Having desks next to each other gave them the opportunity to hold their own office gossip, passing files back and forth with little notes slipped in between. They hid their smirks at the other’s comments behind rims of mugs and well-timed coughs. They exchanged looks of exasperation and picked each other’s brains when their own ran dry. For the first time in a long time, it felt like Daniel had a friend in the office. 

But at night, with no one else there, they didn’t need to pass the notes or hide their smiles. They could just talk. And yes, they worked—of _course_ they worked—but they could work and talk. 

“I swear,” Daniel muttered, “if Thompson can’t even spell the same word wrong _the same way each time_ —“

“At least he knows how to spell his name,” Agent Carter sighed, holding up another file. 

“Krzeminski?”

“Not spelled like this, it isn’t.”

Daniel snorted, bending to make another correction on Thompson’s report. 

“You do know _my_ name,” Agent Carter said suddenly, “don’t you?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course I know your name.”

“But you don’t use it.”

Daniel stopped, turning around to see Agent Carter looking at him. He shrugged. “You’re my coworker. Shouldn’t I refer to you as such?”

“You call don’t call Thompson ‘Agent,’” she said, “I’ve even heard you call him ‘Jack.’”

“‘Cause it pisses him off.”

It startled a laugh out of her. Daniel smiled, happy he could make her laugh, until he felt a strange chill in his chest. He coughed. Probably nothing. 

“It’s your title,” Daniel said instead, “you’ve earned it just as much as anyone else.”

“I know that,” Agent Carter said, “but you don’t have to do that.”

“Then what would you like me to call you?”

In response, she held out her hand. “Peggy Carter.”

“Daniel Sousa.”

Her grip is firm, her touch cool. “Nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“You as well, Peggy.”

The moment was ruined when he coughed. 

“Here,” Peggy said, sweeping up, “let me get you a refill.”

“Thanks,” Daniel muttered, staring at his own chest, confused, “don’t know what came over me.”

He concluded he was getting sick when the cough didn’t stop. He brushed it aside focusing on his work, ignoring the stares and taunts when he started to refer to Peggy by her name when the others could hear. He didn’t bother addressing it, preferring to watch on in amusement as Peggy moved through them like water over stones until the Chief yelled at all of them to get back to work. 

But his eyes didn’t water, his nose didn’t run. His head didn’t hurt. It was just a persistent tickle at the back of his throat and that cough. It wasn’t a sickness he’d had before, that was for sure. 

It was the night they talked about dreams that Daniel figured out what was going on. 

Peggy was warm when she smiled at him; normally so cool amidst the hotheads in the office, she softened at night when the others were gone. They had shrugged off their jackets and pulled their chairs around, taking a short break amidst the monotonous paperwork. Peggy cracked a joke about leaving the rest of the agents to flounder through it that made them both laugh, Daniel stopping when the cough resurfaced. 

“Honestly, Daniel,” Peggy had said, concerned, “you’ve had that cough for a while now.”

“I know,” Daniel grunted, clearing the piece of phlegm lodged in his throat, “I dunno what’s up. I’m not sick.”

Peggy nodded suspiciously, keeping an eye on him until he took a drink. “Well, if the others can’t be bothered to do their own paperwork, I’ve got some doubts about how well they can do other things.”

Daniel huffed. “Don’t blame you.”

When he glanced up again, he saw it. He saw the slumped shoulders, the distant gaze. He set his cup aside and leaned forward onto his elbows. 

“What’s wrong?”

Peggy looked at him in surprise. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking.”

Daniel sighed. “You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to. But please don’t dodge the question.”

Peggy gave him a strange look before sighing. “During the war…I felt like I had a sense of purpose. Something to…work towards. But now…”

Daniel waited for her to finish, and when it was clear she wasn’t going to, he took a deep breath, frowning slightly at the twinge in his chest. He’d done this before, why was it different this time?

“For what it’s worth,” he began, “I think you’re doing great.”

Peggy huffed, setting aside her own cup. “Well, thank you, but—“

“No, no, I’m serious,” Daniel said earnestly. “You came here knowing that people weren’t gonna take you seriously and you’ve been proving them wrong left and right. You’re one of the most capable agents in here and they all know it, even if they won’t admit it to themselves.”

He took a breath, trying to slow himself down. 

“It’s not easy,” he said, “to stay focused and motivated. I get that. But if anyone can do it, Peggy, it’s you.”

He sat back. “You’ll find what it is your looking for. I’ll guarantee it.”

Peggy hadn’t said anything at first, just looked at him. Then she smiled and it was so warm it almost hurt Daniel’s chest. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Truly.”

He waved her compliment off. “Don’t sweat it.”

“What about you?” She nudged his leg with her foot. “Surely you can’t be satisfied with correcting spelling errors all day, every day.”

“It’s all night too, depending on who I’m correcting.”

She laughed. “Come on.”

Daniel sighed. Unlike everyone else he’d had this conversation with, he knew she wasn’t gonna forget about it. 

“I want the world safe,” he decided on finally, “to make sure everyone can go home and enjoy a good meal and a good book.”

“That can’t be all,” Peggy said, eyeing him over the rim of her mug, “come on.”

Daniel spread his hands wide. “I’m a practical guy, and that’s what I want.”

“No one’s completely practical,” Peggy said easily, “you’ve got to have _something_ in there that is just for you.”

He should have told her about it then. 

What he said instead was: “I want everyone here to do their own damn paperwork.”

Peggy had laughed. Her smile was warm. And Daniel’s chest _throbbed_. 

“Daniel!” Peggy lurched forward when Daniel went into another coughing fit, hunched over his desk, covering his mouth with a tissue. “Are you alright?”

“Water,” he gasped, “please?”

Peggy vanished with a glass. Daniel pulled the tissue away, catching sight of something and hoping it wasn’t blood. 

It wasn’t.

By the time Peggy returned, he’d hidden the tissue and the flower petal in his jacket pocket. 

He scrambled for the phone when he got home, waiting to hear Hannah’s voice when she picked up. 

“Danny? Is everything okay?”

“Uh—“ Daniel touched the flower petal sitting on his coffee table— “kind of.”

“That’s normally a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, Daniel, what’s wrong?”

“Just…” Daniel bit his lip, not liking the note of worry in his sister’s voice. “Do you remember that story book Mom gave us when we were younger? The one about monster anatomy?”

“Jeez, Danny, what’s happening?”

“Do you remember it?”

“Of course I remember it, Danny. Now tell me—“

“Wasn’t there something in there about flowers? Like, coughing them up, or something?”

Silence. A buzz of static and the rustle of clothing. 

“Hannah?”

“Daniel,” Hannah murmured through the phone, her voice trembling slightly, “I need you to tell me what’s going on _now_.”

Daniel sighed, his head dropping for a moment, swallowing heavily. 

“…I coughed up a flower petal, Hannah.”

A sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. 

Daniel swallowed, straightening as much as he could. “Now can you _please_ tell me what you remember?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Hannah said shakily. Daniel could hear the noise in the background shift—she must have been moving. “I have the book. Hold on.”

Daniel waited, his leg starting to ache as he stood by the phone, absentmindedly poking the flower petal. It was sort of squat, like a triangle almost, but…not quite. It was rounded at the corners, flaring out more at the base than at the top. As he touched it, it flipped over, the color dimming on the other side. As he tilted his head, he realized what the shape looked like. 

A shield. 

The sound of pages turning drew his attention back to the phone, still cupped in his hand. 

“Hannah?”

“I got it,” Hannah said, the pages stopping in their rustling. “Hanahaki.”

“Hana-what?”

“Hanahaki,” Hannah repeated, “the Lover’s Disease.”

“What?”

“Don’t squeal,” she scolded, “that’s what it says.”

“But I’m not—“ Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “What does it say?”

“The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love,” Hannah read, “where the patient throws up and coughs of flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love, platonic or romantic.”

Daniel turned the words over and over in his head. He wasn’t in love, what the hell was it talking about? 

“How you treat it?”

“Let’s see…” Hannah flipped a page. “It says the infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals. It is too late to operate once the patient begins to cough up the full flowers in large quantities. The best way to get rid of the disease is to admit your feelings to either yourself or have the object of the patient’s desires.”

Daniel glanced down at the desk. “I just coughed up one petal.”

“Is it the first one?”

“Yeah.”

More rustling. 

“So,” Hannah said, forcing cheer into her voice, “who is it?”

“Who is who?”

“The lucky lady?”

“Hannah…”

“Or gentleman?”

“Hannah!”

“Come on, you and I both know that—“

“Hannah, I’m not in love.”

Daniel slumped down onto the chair, burying his face in his hand. His ear was starting to burn from the phone being pressed against his head for so long. 

“…I’m pretty sure this means you _are_ , Danny.”

“But that doesn’t make sense!” Daniel cried, “I don’t...all the things that you’re _supposed_ to feel when you’re in love, I haven’t had any of them!”

“What things are those?”

“You know—“ Daniel waved his hand— “butterflies or tingly things, or whatever. Head buzzing.”

“Perfectly scientific description.”

“Hannah—“

“Alright, alright.” Hannah took a deep breath from the other end of the line. “It also says that in the early stages it’s possible to fall out of love and have it be fine.”

“That would be _easier_ if I knew what _caused_ it.”

“Just…think about it, okay, Daniel?” Hannah pleaded through the phone. “I’ll come up on the weekend, I’ll bring the book, we’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to do that, Han.”

“I know, but I want to.”

“…thank you,” Daniel mumbled, “for everything.”

“Always, Daniel.”

The phone clicked as Daniel set it back on the receiver. He didn’t get much sleep that night. 

Peggy commented on it the next day. He drank more coffee. It stopped the coughing, at least for a little bit. He dodged the other agents and coughed into his handkerchief. 

Hannah threw her arms around him when she arrived that weekend. Daniel buried his head in the crook of her shoulder, dueling emotions warring in his chest. He was thrilled to see his sister. He was dismayed at the reason she came. 

“Come on,” she said briskly, sweeping into the living room, “I brought everything I could think of.”

They spread the books out on the coffee table. Anatomy. The monster book. Some medical book Hannah borrowed from her husband. Telephone book. A new puzzle, but this time, Daniel didn’t feel warm at all. 

When they’d exhausted the books, Daniel slumped against the couch. 

“…did you figure out who it is?”

“No,” he grumbled, “there’s no one I can think of.”

“It’s not someone from work?”

“I don’t love any of them in that way,” Daniel said. 

“The book said platonic feelings count too.”

“I know,” Daniel said angrily, “I _know_ but that’s not it either! I respect the people I work with, they’re incredible agents and I’m proud to work with them.”

Hannah sits quietly, waiting for him to be done but it only makes it worse because now he sounds irrational. 

“They’re strong, determined people who want to fight to make the world a better place. And they can do it, believe me, I believe in the world they want to make. I’d follow her to hell and back if it meant—“

“‘Her?’”

Daniel froze, his hand still outstretched. 

His chest was so cold it _burned_. 

“…Daniel…?”

Hannah turned his face gently to look at her. “Did you figure out who it is?”

Daniel licked his lips and nodded. “…Hannah, I messed up.”

Hannah quirked a brow. “What, does she not like you?”

“I messed up,” Daniel repeated miserably, not taking his sister’s bait, “I…I messed up.”

“Daniel, come here—“

Hannah pulled him into a hug, letting him curl his hands around his frigid chest and sob, getting interrupted every now and then by hacking coughs. A few flower petals fluttered to the ground but they went ignored. 

“Now,” Hannah murmured, “what did you mess up?”

Daniel grabbed the handkerchief and angrily swiped at his face. “If I’ve gone and fallen in love with the _only woman_ in my office then that means I only admire her because of _that_ and not because she’s an incredibly capable agent who—“

“Easy,” Hannah admonished, taking the handkerchief from him and gently wiping his face, “I know Susie and I trained you better than that.”

Daniel clenched his jaw. “But of _course_ I admire and respect her, she’s _amazing_ , you would love her too—“

“Daniel,” Hannah said, “it’s okay. You’re allowed to feel this way—“

“But clearly I’m not!” Daniel waved at the flower petals on Hannah’s dress. “I don’t want her to think that I only respect her because I love her, I want her to think I respect her because she’s more than deserving of respect!”

“And you can tell her that, Daniel—“

“No I can’t,” Daniel scoffed, “come on, would _you_ believe it?”

The look on Hannah’s face told him the truth. 

“Do you think you can fall out of love with her?”

Daniel shook his head glumly. “About as much chance as I have of getting my leg back.”

Hannah patted his shoulder. “So then what are you going to do?”

Daniel twisted the handkerchief between his hands, taking it back from Hannah. He stared at the books laying on the table. 

“I should get the surgery, shouldn’t I?”

“That would rob you of being able to feel _anything_ ,” Hannah pointed out. 

“But it would mean no more this,” Daniel argued, “no more…flowers.”

“Is that what you want?”

“It would ensure the working relationship in the office wouldn’t be strained or affected negatively.”

“But what do _you_ want, Daniel? That isn’t it and you know it.”

Daniel sank into the couch. What did he want?

“You’ve spent so long trying to help everyone else,” Hannah murmured, “and help them keep _their_ dreams that I’m scared you’ve lost yours.”

“I haven’t,” Daniel insisted stubbornly. “I still want the world safe. I still want people to feel secure. I still want people to feel—“

“To feel…” Hannah prompted when he cut himself off. 

“…to feel warm,” Daniel finished pathetically, “and-and _wanted_.”

“And for you, Daniel?” Hannah shifted closer on the couch. “What do you want for _you_?”

“The same thing,” Daniel mumbled, “I…I wanna be safe. I wanna be warm. I want my job and my books and…and…”

“To be wanted,” Hannah finished for him, “don’t you?”

Daniel nodded, feeling the burn in his cheeks and the icy ache in his chest. 

“Now, now,” Hannah chided, lightly tapping his cheek, “what’s this for?”

“…’s stupid.”

“I know you well enough to know it’s not.” Hannah tucked her hand under his chin and pulled his face up. “No hiding. You talk to me, hmm?”

“…I’ve been good, haven’t I, Han?”

Hannah’s mouth fell open in shock. “Danny, what the hell kind of question is that?”

“It’s just…I’ve-I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Daniel clutched the handkerchief until the fabric groaned in protest. “I’ve been-I’ve helpful and friendly and I-I help people…right?”

“Of course you have, Daniel, of course—“ Hannah wrapped her arms tightly around him— “where is this coming from?”

“I—I—“ Daniel swallowed the cough in his throat. “I…helping people makes me happy, Han. I-i-it makes me feel warm. Why—why is it making me feel empty now?”

“Daniel…”

“I wanna be good, Han,” Daniel whined against his sister’s shoulder, “being good makes m-me feel warm—warm, so…so why is it—why am I _cold_?”

His voice cracked and he couldn’t help it. The cracks in his chest burst open and flowers bloomed. He shivered through Hannah’s embrace, through his sweater, through his shirt, through his bones. 

“Don’ wanna feel cold, Han,” he managed before everything fell apart. 

How had this _happened_? He’d just been doing what he’d always done, staying focused, keeping his eye on what was important, helping other people do the same. He hadn’t _meant_ to l—to love Peggy like this. He just wanted to _help_ , to see her warm smile and make her feel like she wasn’t wandering without a purpose, that she could chase her dreams. 

That was _his_ dream. 

Why did it have to turn into a nightmare?

The practical thing to do was get the surgery, Daniel knew. It was early. It wouldn't be that bad. Certainty not as bad as when he was first getting used to his leg. Or lack thereof. 

But then he wouldn’t be able to feel _anything_. And sure, nothing sounded better than the icy gale blowing through his lungs right now but then he wouldn’t feel warm either. 

And he so desperately wanted that _warm_. 

Hannah held him as he fell apart on the couch, rocking him back and forth, shedding her own tears. When they finally pulled apart, their arms ached from the strain of clutching each other so tightly, but Daniel didn’t want to move farther than a hair apart. The dull ache was almost cathartic. Almost. 

“…I don’t want the surgery, Hannah,” Daniel admitted, eyes closed, voice hoarse. 

“Then you won’t get it.”

“But—“

“No,” Hannah said firmly, “you won’t. If you don’t want it, you won’t get it.”

“…isn’t this thing…fatal?”

Hannah glanced at the book. “It can be. But you will figure it out.”

She smiled through their tears. “It’s a puzzle, Danny. You’ll solve it.”

He worked. 

He refused to go quietly. He didn’t deny that he _had_ the disease, that wouldn’t get him anywhere, but he didn’t let the disease take him passively. He burned the flowers with scalding cups of tea, he spit out the blood—when it started to come—and took another bite of the cherry pastry, the colors mixing until he couldn’t tell which was which. He forced himself to smile, lips together so they couldn’t see the bloodstained teeth. He walked tall with his head held high as the vines grew past his lungs, past his throat, around his ribs and tightened into a straitjacket. And he coughed into blank tissues that go straight into the trash before a petal flutters to the floor. 

He wouldn’t go without a fight. 

He drowned himself in warmth and bathed in the cold. 

He gritted his teeth and kept saying all the things the others needed to hear. He worked himself until he couldn’t spare the mind to focus on the ache in his chest. He closed case after case and corrected filing error after filing error. The praise from the others filled him with warmth, the flowers flourishing. 

He spent the night shifts dodging Peggy’s questions, insisting that yes, he had in fact come down with something. No, it shouldn’t be an issue for much longer. No, he didn’t know if it was contagious. Better stay over there just in case. Each soft word she uttered was another thorn snagging the inside of his lungs, each kind touch another breath he wouldn’t be able to take. When he turned away, the flowers withered, the cold seeping into is veins and trying its very best to turn him inside out. 

The petals didn’t come up clean anymore. Now they came up attached to long strings of spittle and blood. He started keeping more blank tissues in his desk, a larger trash can just for him. Thompson made a joke he didn’t hear, something about working himself to death, softened by the concerned furrow of his brows. Peggy jumping to his defense was the sweet rain over the fertilizer. 

He wasn’t in love with her. He couldn’t be. 

And even if he was, telling her wouldn’t be fair. 

Forcing his emotions onto someone else was wrong, it was basically blackmailing her into reciprocating his feelings or being responsible for his death. That was a horrible situation and he was _not_ going to do that to her. What kind of monster would?

Trick question. 

Monsters weren’t real. 

He coughed up a cluster of them and didn’t think twice about it, throwing it into the trash and getting back to work. He wasn’t in love with her. Because that would mean he only saw her as a woman and that was not true. He respected her, he admired her, he supported her. That was what she needed. Not some lovesick fool. 

The worst night was with Krzeminski. 

“You sweet on her, Sousa?”

Daniel didn’t reply. 

“Alright, pal, I’m gonna give you a nickel’s worth of free advice.”

_ Please don’t. _

“Give it up.”

_ You’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, what do you think I’ve been trying to do? Well, not like that, but— _

“No girl’s gonna trade in a red-white-and-blue shield for an aluminium crutch.”

It should’ve worked. It should’ve helped him prove to himself that he wasn’t in love with her, even platonically, because that was true. 

Peggy Carter deserved the best the world could offer. Daniel doubted even Krzeminski’s head was big enough to think they could compare. 

It should’ve done _something_. 

As it turned out, the nerves that detect heat and the nerves that detect cold could function at the same time. 

Daniel’s lungs now knew what hellfire tasted like. 

Krzeminski didn’t notice, because of course he didn’t. He trotted off with one of the sandwiches and swaggered to the break room. Daniel got up slowly, reaching for his crutch and clicking to the bathroom. He barely made it to the sink when he coughed. 

Blood splattered the mirror. 

He coughed.

Spit ran down his chin, hanging precariously. 

He coughed. 

One petal shot out and stuck to the glass. 

He coughed. 

It was stuck. 

It was large and it hurt and it froze and it burned and it was stuck. 

Daniel cursed, feeling the blockage lodge into the back of his mouth, the mirror too covered in blood to see clearly. Tearing off his jacket, not caring when his crutch clattered to the ground, he reached inside. Grasped. His fingertips brushed the end of it. Closed his eyes. Reached further. Got his fingers around the end of it. Sucked in a breath as tight as he could. 

Pulled. 

It creaked and groaned and protested as he dragged it out, fighting for every inch. It slithered against his throat, leaves and petals soaked in blood and spit. He forced his gag reflex down as he pulled, his jaw starting to ache. 

It hung in the air above the sink as Daniel panted, airway finally clear. He retches, throwing up the last few bits that had broken off during the struggle. He slumped against the sink. 

He had to clean up. 

Several paper towels later, the vine stuffed to the bottom of the bag, he rejoined Krzeminski. The sandwich tasted like blood until he forced his throat into submission. 

When he found out Peggy was working on a secret mission he thought for sure this would do it. He threw himself off the cliff, hating himself for it, hoping it would uproot the flowers. But no. The more he learned, the more flowers he coughs up. No more vines, thank god, but more flowers. _Full_ flowers. He forced his lips shut when Peggy confessed properly, chest aching when she gave up Steve Rogers’ blood. He shoved the ache away, standing up for her to Thompson, to Dooley. 

He stood by her as best he could, apologized for when he couldn’t. 

He woke up with her by his side and panicked, wondering if she’d seen the flowers. She hadn’t. 

He teamed up with Jarvis to find Howard Stark. They didn’t. 

He played along when Dr. Fenhoff tried to get him to shoot Thompson. He didn’t. 

Thompson pulled him aside afterward, after the dramatic finale with the planes, after everything had calmed down, after Peggy had gone home with a smile. 

“You gotta tell her,” Thompson said bluntly, “I’m gonna go blind if you don’t.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daniel muttered. 

“Sousa, you’re pining so hard after Carter that it hurts.”

“Oh, _you_ think it hurts?”

The second it came out of his mouth Daniel winced. He turned away, desperate to get _far_ from Thompson, only to be thwarted by another coughing fit. Distantly, he heard Thompson curse and crouch next to him. His crutch clattered to the ground, bracing himself on his hands as his chest heaved. 

Flowers spilled onto the ground. 

“…what the hell, Sousa,” Thompson murmured, “what the _hell_?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel growled, heaving himself to his feet. 

“Sousa, you just puked up flowers, I’m worried.”

“It’s fine.”

“The hell it is.”

“Damnit, Jack—“

“Oh, first name now?”

“ _Thompson_ —“

“The two of you are as bad as each other!”

Daniel froze. “…what?”

Thompson, still looking concerned and freaked out over Daniel coughing up flowers—honestly, fair—scoffed. 

“You kiddin’ me? You two’ve been pining after each other for months.”

Daniel’s brain screeched to a halt. “N-no we haven’t.”

Thompson rolled his eyes. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Sousa.”

“I’m not in love with her.”

“Now _that_ is a bald-faced lie.”

“I’m _not_!” Daniel clenched his fists. “I’m not in love with her because she’s a woman, I _respect_ and _admire_ her because she’s _a good agent_.”

“Can’t you love her because she’s a good agent?”

If this were a fairy tale, Peggy would be listening. Peggy would love him back. Peggy would come and hug him and not care about the blood and petals. There would be no more flowers. 

Daniel never put his faith in fairy tales. 

Instead, he blinked dumbly until Thompson shook his head and called him an idiot. There was a little fond exasperation in it but Daniel didn’t hear it. 

“Look,” Thompson sighed, “she likes you. Just…think about it.”

Daniel nodded. 

Was…could he be in love with Peggy Carter?

She was worthy of love, he knew. Of _course_ she was. 

…was his love worthy of her?

He’d been good, hadn’t he? He’d been…he’d been helpful. He’d been kind. He’d worked his ass off. He…he could love someone like Peggy Carter, couldn’t he?

He cleared his throat. He cleared it again. 

He frowned. 

He finished the day without coughing once. 

He called Hannah, his fingers trembling on the phone again. 

“Daniel?”

“I’m in love with Peggy Carter,” Daniel blurted. 

Hannah laughed. “Well, I think it’s about time you figured it out.”

“Hannah, it’s—the flowers—“

“Are they worse?” Hannah’s voice grew shriller. 

“No,” Daniel panted, his face breaking out into a smile, “no, they’re—I think they’re gone.”

“Oh, _Daniel_ ,” Hannah cried, “I’m so glad! You—you stupid man, all you had to do was realize you were in love.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daniel said giddily, “I know, I…I’m in love.”

“…so what are you going to do?”

Daniel shrugged. “What I’ve always done.”

“Help other people at the expense of yourself?”

“Follow my dream.”

He couldn’t have faked the warmth in his voice, nor the one in Hannah’s when she replied with how much of an _idiot_ he is and not to _scare_ her like that, how _dare_ he. 

The phone call ended and Daniel stared at the wall, still smiling. 

He was in love. 

When the time came to get back to work, he would applaud with the rest of the agents when Peggy came in. He would roll his eyes when _Thompson_ accepted the lion’s share of the credit. He would smile when Peggy told him that she knew her value, everyone else’s opinion didn’t matter. He would lean his crutch against the table and ask her what he _should’ve_ asked months ago, if she’d like a drink. Just as friends. 

But for now, he stood at the wall, bathing in the warmth of being in love.


End file.
